


underdog takes the title

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, ONE BED TROPE MFers, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 07:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: Mulder is unsure about the pacing of his life after a case shows him how shitty it is to be the underdog. Prompt: Giggly, happy sex.





	underdog takes the title

The people of Harbrook, Missouri, were a kind people, but they were a confused people, whose cryptozoological beastman turned out to be a tall, furry high schooler. Mulder sympathized. Puberty had been tough for him, too. Of course, no one had ever snapped a blurry photo of him and had it submitted to the National Enquirer, but he did remember getting his ass kicked a lot and losing his virginity at an embarrassingly late age. **  
**

So that was it, case closed, the next day they’d be on a plane home, and by the smell of him, hairy Barry Holmes possessed enough marijuana to ease his depression until the end of his senior year. Then he could move somewhere warm, and the girls would all find him exotic, and Barry Holmes would live to be a happy man until the end of his days. That was, of course, what happened to Fox Mulder. Essentially. Virginia summers were pleasant enough, and while the girls at Oxford never found him to be “exotic,” his assorted childhood traumas made him a suitable boytoy for many. Some people like you a little broken, he projected telepathically to Barry Holmes, and a few of those people might even be kind about it.  

“You still up?” Scully yawned, and tried to turn over to face him. Oh. He stopped spooning her, blushing furiously, but the dark concealed that. “You okay?”

“Do you think I’m exotic, Scully?” He asked.

A few seconds passed, and for some reason she decided to take the question at face value. “Like a fish, Mulder?”

“Exactly like a fish.” He regretted the de-spooning. He was beginning to think she might let him get away with it. “Go back to sleep,” he touched her shoulder and threw his legs over the bed. “I’m right behind you. I’m just going to get a glass of water.”

When he returned, she was sitting up in her pajamas with the lamp light turned on, and this was precisely why he never minded when they were forced to share a room. Scully’s stupid pajamas were always so cute and stupid, and they always took him by surprise. These ones were purple flannel, and they were monstrously ugly.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she demanded, and the intimacy of the situation was not lost on him.  That was, in fact, what led him back to lay beside her. One full bed in in a small brick motel, those illicit PJ’s, Scully’s damp hair and bare face, emotional honesty at a late hour on a school night. It was all so dreadfully inappropriate, but that was how it was going to happen, wasn’t it? Closer and closer they crept towards something approaching completely and irrevocably inappropriate, and these were the moments he lived for.

“Kids are jerks, Scully,” he told her, propping his head up on the pillow with his elbow. The duvet came up to his hips and though he was chilly he thought it best to leave it there, his chest exposed to her eyes whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. Perhaps one day she’d be forced to jump him on sheer frustration alone, but he wasn’t banking on it. “Does the underdog really ever have its day?”

“Kind of rude to call hairy Barry an underdog, don’t you think?” Her lips curled up, the ghost of good humor crossing her face, and his eyes narrowed.

“You wouldn’t know anything about it. You were top dog, weren’t you?”

She snorted, loud and unfeminine, and he marveled at the ever-growing human capacity for love. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Mulder, but I’m a huge geek.”

“No! You?” She laughed at him some more, that goofy laugh that he didn’t even know she had until he had known her for about six years. “I don’t buy it, Scully. You were the one who told me that smart was sexy.”

“Oh, God, but you don’t figure that out in  _high school_.”

“Boys were lining the halls just to get your number.” She rolled her eyes and thunked her head against the headboard several times. “Begging on their knees.”

“They were begging me to do their homework. But we’re talking about you, Mulder.” She slid down the bed and rolled over on her side to mirror him, to face him was they spoke. She frowned. “You don’t think the underdog ever comes out on top?”

In response to her frown he smiled, acknowledging a serious question with a serious answer. “Sometimes it’s just a lot of shit, Scully,” he said.

He was no fool, and he understood perfectly well that Scully pitied him, and pitied him often. But her pity was somehow respectful and born of that respect. She never pitied anyone she didn’t wholeheartedly believe deserved better, and that stood for something.

“I don’t know about all that,” she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Didn’t you have a water bed?”

He laughed and laughed loud at that, and went completely still when her face was centimeters from away from him, and stopped breathing when her mouth touched his own.

She pulled back, licking her lips, and asked. “No?”

“Yes.” He leaned in and kissed her, too. And when it became a mutual thing, it was beautiful and long, and it was a pity kiss, of course, but he got the sense that Scully was a little turned on by pitiable men, and he was certainly turned on by her pity.

He crawled on top of her, getting tangled up in the blanket, and she giggled when he had to untangle himself to feel her against him.

“You laughing at me?” He said, sliding his adventurous hand over her thigh.

“Oh, no,” she shook her head. “If I had known we were going to do this…” she trailed off, and eyed her truly awful purple flannel pajamas.

“I love these,” he pinched a pant-leg and tugged, heartsick. “They’re the worst ones you have. Definitely.”

Grabbing his hand, she directed it between her legs, and some neurons were unfortunately lost in the making of that moment. “I told you,” she said, rolling her hips against his searching fingers. “Damnable geek.”  
  
“Do my homework,” he whispered, licking her bottom lip. They fumbled to peel her out of her bedtime armor, and just to be sure, he had to ask her. Why now?

“You just looked so sad,” she said, cupping his cheek. “I thought it was time.”

That inevitable inappropriateness. They were on the same page, then.

Scully’d been hiding a pair of sweet little breasts under her clothes all these years, if you discounted all of the times he’d accidentally seen them. It was love at… fifth? Sight.

“I love these, too,” he said, kissing his way down her chest. He had his endgame, but he was careful to try other places, too, long, sweet kisses devoted to her elegant neck and pointy collarbone. He deduced she was a bit of a sensitive flower and that she liked to be kissed everywhere, and the thought thrilled him beyond words. He bit her nipple, only lightly, and she arched into his mouth and cried out, and scraped her nails down his back when he laved and sucked on the tips of her breasts.

He got tangled in the blanket again when he made his way to kiss further down her body, and nearly got punched in the head when he tried to lick her stomach.

“Sorry! Sorry, ticklish,” she chuckled. She then sat up, and he nudged her back down. “I want to touch you,” she breathed, reaching down to stroke his hair.

“Hold on,” he said, tugging her pajama bottoms off of her legs. Her panties were simple cotton, damp and pretty and gone within minutes. He dropped his body between her spread thighs, overcome.

“Scully,” he said, and said nothing else.

“I know,” she murmured, petting his head. He wasn’t so sure she did, but he let it slide.

A part of him believed that he’d been chipping away at a huge block of marble to eventually get to this, or that he’d accumulated parts of her over the years to put together a greater puzzle. He understood those theories weren’t exactly fair to Scully, who’d jumped through her own hoops to get to this version of him, a version who not only loved her, which was sort of a given, but who could also be loved back.

He pushed up on the backs of her thighs, and buried his face in her, at first just to acclimate himself to the location, and then because he loved it. His tongue and jaw put in work, her hard clit plump and swollen sucked between his lips, toyed with and tortured by the tip of his tongue.

“Can you – twice?” He asked, because he didn’t want to stop, because he didn’t want to rob the both of them of doing it together. She nodded. “More than twice?” She rolled her eyes, and he took that as maybe, try again later.

He made her tremble against his mouth, made her need it, then made her come. Licking up her come only made him want it more so he took his time. When he resurfaced, she got pushy and tried to collect on her end of the bargain, shoving his pants down his legs with zero finesse and getting dangerously close to kneeing him in the balls.

“God, you’re–” and she didn’t finishing, her mouth blocked by his pecs as she sloppily trailed kisses over them.

“I’m what?” He asked gently, letting her explore.

“Beautiful.” She kissed beneath his ear and he flushed hotly, blinking like a dope as her hand curled around the base of his cock in a light, teasing stroke. “My best friend.” She kissed him there again, and that there is when he learned the ultimate truth of Dana Scully – when you got her naked, she stripped all the way down, and there would never be anything more wonderful or more terrifying.

“Well–” he struggled to come up with a comeback, desperately wanting to deflect with humor even as she slid right underneath him and guided him inside of her. “Well, I love your cute little bush.” She smacked him on the shoulder and they both gasped and he slid all the way in and it was perfect, it was perfect.

She did a good job of finding her own clit, which did him a world of wonder, because as soon as he he felt her snug and drenched around him he figured he had no chance.

“Shit, Scully, what the hell were we waiting for,” he huffed into her neck, thrusting in a steady, controlled rhythm. She was pulsing and magnificent, her cunt alive and so welcoming to him, like coming home and getting fed and sung to sleep. Goddamn.  _Goddamn_. What had he ever even known about home?

She rocked upward, meeting him thrust by thrust, and he could feel her touching herself between their moving bodies. He liked it, liked it a lot, and it urged him on further, to go deeper, harder, faster. It was private and wild for her to show herself to him like that, at least for Scully, who sometimes refused to show him what she was eating for lunch. Because he made fun of her for it. Digressing. She felt so good, and he felt so good.

He felt every twitch of her, every move she made, he felt the sounds in her throat and the beat of her heart and the urgency of her working hand. The other hand was in his hair or alternatively digging into his ass cheek.

“Wanna come together,” he gasped into her mouth, and she said something like “We probably won’t.” But they were pretty close. He filled her up and lost his soul in the process, and she followed on the tail end of that, squeezing him until he didn’t have anything left to give and then took some more and hurt him a little. But when she was done he quickly pulled out and collapsed at her side, halfway on top of her.

They caught their breaths together, and after she peed and had a drink of water, he curled her against his chest and held the precious weight of her to him.

“Looks like the underdog came out on top,” she said smugly.

“Looks like the little nerd got herself a hot jock boyfriend.” He pinched her ass. Then he decided none of this was funny, not at all, but she was already asleep by the time he convinced himself to tell her how much she meant to him.


End file.
